


Sebastian likes being dominated by his girlfriend.

by solnyshka (littlesolnyshka)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Kink, NSFW, Oral Sex, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesolnyshka/pseuds/solnyshka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for 'sebstanfrustration' on tumblr, prompt 16: Sebastian likes being dominated by his girlfriend. Mild for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sebastian likes being dominated by his girlfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written fiction ever before so please let me know how I go? xxx

The first time Sebastian and his girl fuck half-drunk, it’s not sweet and loving and careful like before, but its fumbling against the back of a hotel room door in New York, and he almost drops her. She flexes at the same time he relaxes by accident, face buried in the crook of her neck smelling her skin, and she slides half down the door with a muffled squeak, hands clutching at the back of his neck damp with sweat, her painted nails leaving half-moon imprints in his tanned skin. He pulls her back up, buries his cock into her to the hilt, his hands around the curve of her waist with his knuckles scraping against the dusty hotel fire evacuation instructions velcroed onto the door. When she comes with a breathy sigh, clenching around him, thigh muscles twitching and tightening on his hips, she pulls his hair to the point that it hurts and he throws his head back and comes unexpectedly, rutting desperately into her until the aftershocks subside. Her mouth tastes like apple martinis and her dark hair smells like jasmine and all Sebastian wants to do is glue her fingers to his hair so everytime he so much as moves away from her, he feels that sharp shock of pleasure down his spine. 

When they leave the hotel room in the morning, she goes back to work and study in the city and he goes off on location, the middle-aged makeup lady tch-ing over the little bruised crescents in the skin on the back of his neck and in the broad curves of his shoulderblades. When they finally get around to fitting the prosthetic arm to his in the costume department, the lube they slick over his skin stings the scratches on the side of his bicep- and when a hairdresser makes him sit down so she can expertly weave hair extensions through his long hair for hours on end, tugging at each strand to make sure it will stay, he squirms and is suddenly very glad for the cape they’ve dragged around him, his balls aching and cock half hard even despite himself. That night, in another hotel room in another city, sharing a wall with his co-star and not a bed with his girl, he gets in the shower after another big day of strength training, muscles burning. He drags his hand through the extensions feeling the ache in each follicle and comes undone, eyes shut tight and lip frantically chewed, hand wrapped tightly around his cock feeling it pulse as he comes harder than he has in weeks under the harsh heat of the shower. 

It’s been two weeks since he was finally able to cut his hair after filming the Winter Soldier, two whole weeks of him lounging around watching shitty reality TV shows on cable with his hair pulled back with a bunch of her bobby pins and eating all the pizza he could possibly order to make up for lost time, talking shit on his webcam with his college friends and eating all her favourite cereal. He kept making excuses as to why he hadn’t walked the three blocks to the hairdresser, when finally- he can’t avoid his mother anymore and she shows up at their apartment, sends him to get his hair cut, chastising him despite the smile pulling at her mouth. He comes back with barely two inches off it, but it’s back to his light brown color, making his skin glow pale caramel in their kitchen light when his girl comes home from work and sees him hunched over their breakfast bar reading a potential audition script. She presses a warm kiss to his shoulder, feels the muscles work under his smooth skin as he spins around on the bar stool and smiles, white teeth behind pink lips, and he’s home for at least a couple of months, and she’s going to put that time to good use and find out what makes him tick. She licks into his mouth, deepens the kiss, and he stands up- only an inch or two taller than her, but his shoulders are strong, presses her against the kitchen counter, mumbles what he wants to do to her after he gets home from catching up his friends that night.

His girl isn’t stupid, when he’s back from the bar with his friends she watches him in the doorway to their bedroom, watches him get changed in their bedroom into sweats and a worn tshirt that fits his chest perfectly, watches him watch her while he goes down on her on the couch at home, half curled up in a throw blanket against the autumn chill and sees his pupils blow out, from the beautiful icy blue to dark azure, i-missed-you-i-missed-this, his cock twitching in his sweatpants when she pulls his hair sharply to keep his mouth in the place where she wants it, oh-yes-just-there-please, and scratches with her other hand at his arm holding her down when she rolls up her hips to meet his hot mouth, the tongue he laves across her clit in just the right way to make her see stars, make her hearing go muted, makes her inner thighs cramp and her pussy burn with pleasure. After she comes, he wriggles languidly up the couch to rest his cheek between her breasts, and he doesn’t do anything else. Just breathes her in, his hands entwined with hers, ignores his throbbing cock that she can feel against her thigh. 

“You like it when I pull your hair,” she says breathily, smoothing her leg under his cock, waiting for his reaction. He takes a moment to answer, the throb of his cock his tell. “Yeah,” he says quietly, still tipsy, cautious, like the neighbours will hear through the double brick wall of their apartment building, “yeah, I like it when you pull my hair.”

“What else do you like?” His weight shifts, lifts off her, puts a hand on the couch cushion either side of her face so he can look down at her through the long strands of hair. His eyes shine bright blue against the dull light from outside the apartment, his dark lashes almost dusting his cheeks when he lowers his head down to suck and kiss his way down her jawline, to her collarbone and throat, and he tastes like vice, like cigarettes and liquor and something sweet, like watermelon candy he had pocketed on the way home from a 7/11, because while he was filming he had missed her and missed candy and had to make up for lost time with both of them. “I like it when…we do things you like. I like doing things for you,” he mumbles into her messy hair, curls the tip of his tongue under her earlobe. He presses his hips down when she moans, waits for her to curl her legs back around him until he grinds down onto her properly, her wetness making the front of his sweatpants damp. She’s gotten him off like that before, pinned him down in the sofa chair near the balcony window in the late afternoon sun and pressed her hips against his clothed ones, made him come in his pants like a teenager. “I want you to use me,” he says, barely audible, just whispered into the shell of her ear. “I want to be yours; I want you to make me yours”. 

She pushes him back gently and slides out from under him on the couch, and he sits up, cock tenting in his sweatpants, a visible damp patch from her in the front. “Can I ride you?” He bites his lip and nods, makes a move to shuck off his pants, but she’s already on top of him, straddling his hips with her arms around his broad shoulders, strands of his hair brushing her knuckles. She palms him through his pants, inches them down over his hips as he sighs then moans at the touch, pulls them down just enough to get his cock out. “No,” she says, quietly, firmly, and his hands go still on her hips, fingertips pressing into the warm skin of her hipbones. “I’ll do it. It’s my pace, I’m using you, remember?”

His cock is hard, looks painfully so, flushed red, and she realises he’s probably been hard since came home, bounced off the doorframe in the kitchen half drunk and went to get changed before joining her, when he smoothed down the blanket on the couch while she was reading her book, pulled her underwear down and kissed up her thighs and put his mouth on her. Even so, he stays still, pliant under her hands, his skin warm and smooth, even when she feels his thighs tense at the sensation of her hand wrapping around him before she hovers over him, dragging the head of his cock through the wetness of her pussy, between her folds, over her clit. He does moan, though, low in his throat, desperate, a mewling sound from between his teeth, still chewing on his bottom lip. “Oh, fuck”, he says, New York accent slurring his vowels, “fuck, uhhh, please.” 

“Please?” she says, smiling, slowly easing herself down onto his cock, nice and thick and hot, and she feels him twitch when she bottoms out, when he’s fully inside her. “What else?”

Sebastian looks like he’s struggling to breathe let alone speak, but he doesn’t fuck up into her tight heat, just reaches out and pulls her into a open-mouthed kiss, dirty and hot, waits for her to make the first move. She can taste herself on his mouth now, it’s pushed the taste of liquor away, feels the soft stubble on his cheeks rasp against hers, and she tightens her hands in his hair, tugs her fingers back to expose his throat, feels for a reaction. He tenses again, and she rolls her hips up then down slowly, again and again, feels his mouth go slack against hers as he moans her name, pleading. He’s desperate, desperate to fuck her, mark her, desperate to come, she’s teased him for less time than this before and he’s thrown her off him and fucked her into the floor in their loungeroom until he got carpet burn on his elbows, showed up to a promotional event with raw skin on his elbows and had to blame a gym training mat. She’s not speeding up, leisurely rutting against him, feeling his dick twitch and throb inside her, and he lets out a ragged sigh against her throat, his arms holding her waist and shoulders to him. “Choke me,” he murmurs, and before she can react he’s got one of her hands out of his hair and pressed it against his warm throat with his hand over hers, pressed it down quickly, firmly, and she feels his throat work as he tries to swallow. She’s stopped fucking him momentarily while she watches this spectacle, his still-long hair pulled back in strands wrapped around one hand and his throat covered with her other and a pink flush spreading across his chest under the dusting of dark hair that’s grown back now he’s finished filming, a matching flush of pink high on his cheekbones, he’s begging her to keep moving, slurring due to her hand restricting his breath, please-please-fuck-me-fuck-onto-me-fuck but he’s coming anyway despite himself, thrusting his hips up frantically, his lower lip caught between his teeth as she feels the warmth of his mess spread inside her, coats his cock and her folds and her inner thighs, makes them warm and slick. He pulls her closer to his chest, sucks and licks his way down her jaw and throat to her breasts and then pushes her hips away from him, so she’s on her back again against the couch. “Seb, wait, the couch, we’re messy, the cushio-“ she says, nipples peaking under his touch, and he cuts her off with a burning kiss before he slides back down her body, sinks down off the couch and pulls her up so she’s sitting, and gets his warm mouth on her pussy again, tongue swirling flat against her clit, licking up the warm mess on her thighs, out of her pussy. She sighs, almost purrs when she looks down and watches him worship her, too oversensitive already but his mouth is hot and wet and his scruffy half-beard scratches at her thighs just right and she comes again, scratching her nails over his shoulders and the back of his neck. 

Once she catches her breath, trusts herself to speak, she lightly shoves his shoulder, and he sits back on his haunches, wipes the dampness of her- of them- off his mouth and cheeks and chin. “So you like me pulling your hair,” she says, cupping his cheek in her hand, watching as he turns his face to kiss the palm of her hand, “And you like being choked”. 

He smiles against her hand, pulls his sweatpants back up over his softening cock, letting the waistband sit low under his hipbones again, puts his hands back on her thighs, warm and broad, craning his neck up to kiss her mouth. “Maybe.” She looks him over on the floor in front of her, messed hair, mouth red, a sheen of sweat still visible high on his chest- he looks good, he always looks good, but he looks especially good like this. 

“Maybe. Go back to your book.”


End file.
